


I'll Follow You Into the Dark

by CarmillaofColdharbour



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Comfort, Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, John Wick - Freeform, Parabellum, The Continental, mild NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaofColdharbour/pseuds/CarmillaofColdharbour
Summary: This is a story of love and adventure. I'm not totally sure of where I'm going with the plot, I just wanted to post what I've already written. Will eventually be nsfw, those chapters will very clearly be marked and tagged appropriately.





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: There’s people chasing us, and I pulled you in to the alley with me, and wow you’re close.

One shot,  
bang!  
Two shots,  
bang! bang!  
John’s turn.  
Silence.  
And then…grunting, a slam against the floor, a muffled cry in pain. John turns to you.  
“Run! Get to cover!” You moved as quickly as you can to hide behind a car, your feet tucked behind the wheel.  
Another shot.  
You duck and shiver in the cold city air, you’re sweating. Slowly, you remove your shoes and hold them tight in your hands.  
Bullets, flying.  
A hand on your shoulder.  
John.  
“Come on, we need to get out of here!” he calls over gunfire. You follow him, running barefoot, your dress whirling around your thighs. Cold wind, icy arms, jabs of pain in your feet. Running. Running. Running. The icy wind seems to be crawling in to your chest through your breath and your feet are beginning to feel like lead, your muscles cramping up. A hand shoots out of the alley and pulls you in to the darkness with it. You look up and see John. His hair looks ragged in the dim, blue glow of the back door light installed a couple feet away. He looks handsome, red-purple blood is oozing from his temple, or maybe it’s just splattered. Right now, you can’t tell. He has pressed you against the brick wall. His eyes are intently focused on the action happening around the corner. And suddenly you’re aware of how cold the wall is against your body, and how warm his body is against yours. He’s pushed up close to you, his chest touching yours, his legs, his hips. You feel the metal of his belt press in to your stomach and a warmth begins in your chest. You’re distracted by a shot, and then another going off close by. John looks at you now and leans close, his lips brushing your ears,  
“I need you to stay here, and I need you to stay quiet. Only leave if there is an imminent threat,” you feel cold metal in your hand and wrap your fingers around what seems to be a watch, “If I’m not back in five minutes I want you to stay low and try to escape.” You nod and he pulls away from you and you miss the warmth. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders, you notice his thumb drag on your collar bone.  
“I’ll be back in five minutes,” his thumb traces your cheeks, “I promise.” And with that, he’s around the corner and gone. 

One minute.  
A shot.  
One minute and 22 seconds.  
A yelp and a shot.  
Two minutes.  
Two minutes 30 seconds.  
Three minutes.  
Bang!  
Cry!  
Crack!  
Four minutes.  
Grunt! Slam!  
Four minutes and 30 seconds.  
Bang! Bang! Yell!  
47, 48, 49.  
A shorted yelp.  
50, 51.  
Another crunch and grunt.  
52, 53, 54.  
A sigh.  
55, 56.  
Silence.  
57, 58, 59.  
John. 

He walks over to you.  
“Are we safe?” You whisper.  
“Ya, but we need to get to the Continental. I’m not sure why those people were here tonight. Or what they want, we still need to be careful.”


	2. The Continental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Reader make it to the Continental where they rest and recuperate from their date gone wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: your shirt/sweater was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it

The Continental is warm, and the second you walk through the doors, you feel safe. John holds your hand as you make your way to the elevator.  
Level one.  
Two.  
Three.  
The elevator dings and the doors open. You walk in to the hall and John lets go of your hand to fish for his key. The room is clean, the bed is made, and your body is desperate to fall on top of it and sleep. Instead, you turn to John.  
“You okay? Were you shot?” You begin to unbutton his shirt for him, scanning for blood.  
“I think I’m good,” he answers, “I just wanna take a shower and go to bed.” You nod and make your way to the bathroom to turn on the water and grab fresh clothes from the go-bag John always has waiting for him at the Continental. You take a fresh pair of boxers and a grey henley for him, another pair of boxers for you and then your hands run over a black cashmere sweater and you smile lifting it from the bag. You move the folded clothes to the counter and check the water, it’s warm now. You know John will join you when he’s ready, but you’re tempted to see what he’s doing. You peek outside the bathroom to see him pacing around the room, cell phone up to his ear, his shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck, belt unbuckled and loose around his hips, his shoes kicked to the side. He’s angry, mumbling something in Russian to the person on the other end of the line. He hangs up the phone and sighs, his knuckles turning white as he grips the desk in front of him. You leave him to his thoughts and close the door, undressing, and getting in the shower. A few minutes pass and you hear the door open, hear a belt clink on the tile floor, and the shower door opens. His hands are on your waist and he says nothing. You reach down and softly remove his hands from around your waist, and move so he can be in the hot water. The water hits him and he seems comforted by the warmth. You spend several minutes washing and conditioning his hair, washing his body, and helping him rinse. He grabs the soap and moves to touch you, but you shake your head,  
“I already washed up, before you got in.” In response, he puts the soap down awkwardly before speaking,  
“Can I hold you?” his eyes are soft and his hands reach for you. You nod slowly. He shuffles to get behind you, back to his first position, with your body tucked close, his head on your shoulder, large hands on your waist. He’s quiet and there’s nothing but the water and the warmth of his body. He places a couple of kisses to your shoulder.  
“So,” you start. He picks his head up quickly in response, “you, uh, come here often?” you say flirtatiously. He smiles and buries his head in your hair, planting a couple of kisses on your neck. He hums before answering,  
“Not as often as I’d like.”  
“What are you doing here, now? Bad date?” He gives another chuckle.  
“No, no. Great date. Fun date.”  
“Then what are you doing here all by your lonesome?”  
“Well, I’m worried I scared her off, she knows what I do. She knows the kind of jobs I have. But she’s never been involved in anything more than just knowing I did them.”  
“Give her time, I’m sure she’ll come around. But tell me more about your date? It was great?”  
“Oh ya. She’s great. Super smart and funny, a real firecracker. She makes me laugh, she’s really sweet too. I love that about her. She’s everything I need,” he pauses, “everything I want.” The fingers on your waist move, one lowering down to your hips, a thumb rubbing circles on your pelvic bone. The other up your stomach and right below your breasts.  
“Well Mr. Wick, I’m glad you had a good time.” He chuckles again and pulls away to turn you around, his naked frame towering over you, a goofy grin on his face.  
“I love you,” he pulls you in to a tight hug, “you’re so silly.” He kisses your hair and you can feel the mood change as his hug becomes a little desperate and he holds you a little tighter, “I love you so much."

* * *

The bed is warm and he traces circles on your stomach and legs, moving the fabric around to complete his movements. You both lay quietly on the bed, a couple of lamps lighting the room, room-service dinner on the desk.  
“I’ve never seen this sweater on you before,” you say fingering the black cashmere sweater that you’re wearing.  
“That’s because I’ve never worn it around you. It’s been in my go-bag for a long time, and my go-bag has been here for a long time, and I haven’t needed it in a long time, so I haven’t worn it for a while.”  
“It’s nice, warm. I bet you look very handsome in it.”  
“Thank you,” he’s grabbing the fabric now and moving the edges around in his fingers, “it was a gift from Helen.” You pull away, wanting to vomit, cringing at your mistake.  
“Oh John, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry. I’ll change right now, I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked.” He’s calm and he’s continuing to move the fabric around in his hand so you don’t move, afraid you’ll interrupt what seems to be an important process for him.  
“It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with wearing it. It’s mine, and what’s mine is yours.” He lets go and you sit up and move to stand. He grabs your hand with a couple of fingers.  
“Please don’t,” he whispers. You sigh, your eyes searching the room in an attempt to avoid his. He tugs you down and you sit down next to him, he tugs again and you lie down next to him. He pulls you close and you rest your head where his chest and shoulder meet, he pulls your leg on top of him and slides his other leg in between your own. He stares at the ceiling as he talks, fingers still tracing circles on your thighs.  
“She gave me the sweater when we first started dating, and I kept it in my go bag to remind myself why I was working so hard to get out of this job, out of this place. I loved her, and that past version of myself will always love her. But he died with her, and I guess that’s really what I had to come to terms with. I had to find this new part of me” he turned his face to meet yours, “and I’ve found that with you.”  
“Do you ever miss her?” He looked back to the ceiling  
“Ya, but it’s a lot easier now that I have you. I miss,” he paused to think. “Before I met you, I missed the things that she brought to my life. The things I thought I could never have again. People kept telling me to get myself out there, start dating again. I thought that if I met someone it would be a lesser version of her, someone that,” he paused again, restarting his thought process and sentences, “I missed the walks, and the laughing, and the way she made me feel, I missed the sex, and holding hands, I even missed fighting with her,” he chuckled to himself, “but now that you’re with me, I don’t miss it anymore. And so while I still think of her, it doesn’t come with so much pain and loss and sadness and loneliness. It’s a moment of sweetness, a gift. A fond memory that I can dwell on for a moment.”  
“Do you ever wish I was more like her?”  
“No, never. You two are just different. I thought that when you fell in love your heart filled up, and that was that, there was no more love to go around. And that when I was with someone else, that heart would either stay full and I wouldn’t want the person I was with, or the heart would empty and she would be gone. But, as it turns out, the love I had for her was a vastly different experience than the love I have for you. And the love I had for her is no less valid because I love you now. And the love I have for you is no less deep or meaningful, because I loved her.” You were silent for a while, taking in the information.  
“John?”  
“Yes?”  
“However you miss her, that’s okay, I’ll be here to support you no matter what’s going on, no matter how you feel.”  
“Thank you, love, I know you will. It’ll be okay.”


	3. The Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and John can leave the Continental, but you can't go home. So instead, you bundle up for the Autumn weather and spend some time in Central Park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside, laughing

John woke you up with a small shake, whispering your name. 

“Hey,” he sat down next to you and brushed your hair out of your face, still whispering, he spoke, “we can get out of here if you want.” Your vision felt foggy and you squinted in the light, 

“Ya, okay,” you replied groggily, “ what about,” you stopped to find your voice in the morning, “what about last night? Those people?”

“It’s fine, I took care of the immediate threat, and I have good friends working on solving the rest of the problem.”

“So we’re safe?”

“Yes, we’re safe. We can’t go home right now though, we just have to stay in town, in public,” you opened your eyes in terror, “don’t worry, the dog, the important documents, I took care of it all. _If,_ something happens to the house, there’s nothing irreplaceable there.” You were noticeably calmed and you put your head back on the pillow rubbing your eyes, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that last night,” he started, “You were never ever meant to see anything that I do, or be around any of those kinds of people. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s what I signed up for, it’s what I agreed to. I understand.” He kissed your forehead tenderly,

“Wanna go downstairs and get some breakfast?”

“Ya,” you nodded tiredly, “ya, give me a couple minutes. ” He smiled and moved so you could get up. 

“I’ll be excited to get home and change out of this dress.” You zipped up the sides, feet squeezing in to your heels.

“You could always wear the boxers and sweater,” he offered, waiting at the door. 

“Ya, okay,” you mocked, walking up to meet him. He opened the door, placed his arm around your waist, and pinched your butt. 

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He chuckled as the two of you walked down the hall. 

“I’ll get you something else to walk around in today,” you glared at him, “something decent and comfortable. Jeesh, I’m not a monster,” you giggled as he kissed your head. He leaned down to your ear as you descended the stairs, “although I wouldn’t mind,” he began to whisper. 

“John!”

Hand in hand you walked down the hallway and to the cafeteria. 

* * *

Winston turned to Charon,

“Now tell me, why is a woman like that with a man like him? It’s a dangerous place for someone not among our,” he paused dramatically, “ranks.”

“Well sir, if I may, Mr. Wick seems the safest company around.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

 

Outside was cold, a bitter wind swept through New York and you clenched your teeth to keep from chattering. John did his best to warm you, but in the dress and heels you were wearing, coat left at home, you weren't going to get warm anytime soon. 

“Cone on,” he said, pulling you close, “let’s go get you something warmer to wear. And less fancy.”

“Yes, less fancy, please.”

* * *

You walked out of the store in a pair of jeans and a sweater, a hat and scarf, comfy shoes on your feet. Still a bit cold, you held you arms to your chest. John had dressed similarly, except for the hat, which he had refused. 

“Wanna go to Central Park?” he asked, “We can get you some tea or hot cocoa or something on the way?”

* * *

You had to take the subway, but John held you close, his head resting on your shoulder from behind, his arms crossed around you, hands playing with you hair. The air that hit you was cold, as you walked up the stairs, but the trees were dazzling shades of yellows, reds, oranges, browns, and purples. Before you knew it, you two were walking down the park, hot drinks in hand. 

“So,” you began. 

“So?”

“What do you want to do when we get home?”

“I’m not sure,” he responded, “I’m enjoying our time right now. Although, gotta admit, a bath sounds nice.”

“Mm, it does. When will we be clear to go back to the house?”

“Should be soon.”

“Okay,” you sipped your drink, fingers only warm where they touched the paper cup. Through the park you two wandered, talking about this and that, laughing about this and that. You two made it to a patch of grass in front of a small pond and the world seemed empty except for the both of you and some ducks. You leaned up against him and he leaned back on his hands. 

“Whatcha thinkin about?” you asked 

“Well, our three year anniversary is coming up, and I was wondering what we should do. You wanna go somewhere?”

“Like where?”

“Paris is a solid romantic destination, so is Barcelona. Japan could be lots of fun.”

“Oh, I thought you meant like a nice place to eat or something, John, that’s a lot of expense for, well,” you stumbled over your words. 

“Three years?”

“Well, ya. I mean, it’s not a benchmark or something.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to go somewhere, we don’t have to.”

“No, it’s not that, I just, I don’t want,” you stopped and tried to rearrange the words in your head, 

“I don’t want you to be bored of me. You’ve been around the world a million times already, and then _again_ with Helen. And I’m afraid that we’ll go, have a time, get back, and you’ll be done with me. You’ll have checked all the boxes, the thrill or whatever, will be gone. I mean, let’s be honest John, you have lived a life of adventure and adrenaline and danger for such a long time, one trip with me might send you home feeling like you need something more.”

“Honey,” he turned you around so he could look at you, cupping your cheeks and kissing your forehead before he spoke, “baby girl, that’s silly. I understand your thought process, I get it. But that’s just so far from the truth. I’m not with you because you fix my aching dull boredom. I’m with you because you’re intoxicating, in every way. You’re beautiful and sexy, and you _do_ leave me aching when I’m away from you,” he winked and put his hand on your thigh, “but I also think you’re a fantastic person. I mean, I thought you’d get bored of me. Well, maybe not bored, but definitely tired. Tired of running or hiding or waiting for me to come home, tired of my hang ups, or me coming home bloody. Wanting a normal life with a normal man. In all honesty, this trip, while it’s definitely just something fun to celebrate our anniversary, it’s also an apology and a thank you and a please don’t go and a let me show you that this is worth it, that I am worth it.” You smiled a slow and small smile, moving to kiss his palm on your cheek. He smiled and you moved close to hug him, you nuzzled in to his neck, wrapping your arms under his, his warm hands on your back. 

“Oh John, you are a silly man.” He smiles and kisses you. 

Once.

Twice. 

The third time is sloppy and long. 

Hands. His hands. 

On your back. 

Up the back of your sweater. 

On your hips. 

Hot breath on your neck. 

Lips now. 

A drop falls from the sky.  

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

**Four**. 

“John, it’s beginning to rain,” you whisper. 

“So?” he kisses your throat. 

“And we’re in public.”

“There’s no one around.”

“That we can see. John,” you reprimand. 

Kiss, kiss, bite, breath, hands, kiss. 

“John,” you try again, but not that hard. His phone rings, “baby, your phone is ringing.”

“Let it ring.”

“Honey, it might be work.”

“I don’t want the job.”

“No, the house?”

“Good idea, let’s go back home.”

“John,” you pull away from him laughing. 

“What?” He stops for a second, going over the conversation before realizing his mistake, he starts to laugh too. And now the rain is coming down harder and harder as you two run through the park. The bright leaves are beginning to glisten, the animals hiding away, the park seems empty, and the two of you are caught up in a storm of rain, laughs, and kisses. John’s phone call was to tell you it’s okay to go home, so that’s where you’re going. Home. 

 

 


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Reader make it home happily, safely, until...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes blood, death, and very minor nsfw content.  
> prompt: "It'll be fun, trust me."

You and John walk in the house, drenched from the rain. Dog, who had been dropped off earlier by Charon runs up to John, his tail wagging furiously. 

“Hi,” John says, getting on his knees to scruff the dogs ears, “good dog.” John stands and sees you shivering, your rain-soaked jeans feel cold against your thighs and your shirt and sweater are dripping wet. He chuckles,

“Honey, you’re drenched, come on. Let’s go upstairs and get you changed.”

“Okay,’” you begin to walk up the stairs but John walks in to the kitchen, “where are you going?” you ask. 

“I’m gonna feed the dog real quick, I’ll be up in a second."

“Okay," you shrug and walk up the stairs, ”Come here good boy. You hungry?” you hear John say as you walk in to the bedroom you and John share. You hastily take off your wet clothes, throwing them on the tile floor of the bathroom. Your skin feels cold to the touch and you hurriedly put on a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. John walks in as you put a pair of socks over your cold feet, he smiles at your gratefully pleased expression. You pretend to pick at a loose thread on your socks, your eyes darting to the mirror to watch him undress. As he removes his shirt you notice his tattoos and the scars that litter his body move over his muscles. You watch him undo his belt and find yourself blushing as he removes his pants, your eyes glued to his strong thighs. John’s eyes find yours and you shoot your intense gaze to a portion of the bedside table and then back to the loose thread on your socks. He chuckles to himself, blushing a bit, his ego boosted.  
Having dressed himself in his own sweat pants and t-shirt, John picks the wet clothes off the floor and puts them in the hamper before grabbing the hamper itself. The muscles in his arms flex and relax as he grabs the basket, and you find yourself staring. John walks out the door and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Leaving the room, you walk down the stairs and in to the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine and a put a teapot on the stove.  
You can hear John shut the lid of the washing machine and close the door to the laundry room, the dog’s tail whack-whacking loudly against the wall. John walks down the hall and sees you leaning over the sink to open the kitchen window, shirt lifting as you reach over on tip-toes. He watches as you breathe in the cold rainy air, smiling to yourself. Suddenly he’s completely captivated by you. By your skin, your hair, the way you pour the coffee and add the cream and sugar, the way you had laughed with him in the rain, and the way you look on a lazy Friday night, the way you look in his sweaters, the way your smile lights up his bad day. He begins to run over your skin in his mind, the way you smell when you get out of the shower, the way you look standing naked in front of the closet trying to decide what you want to wear. You turn with a smile, coffee in your outstretched hand, your other hand sneakily finding its way to John's waist. You smile and kiss him softly. He smirks into the kiss and your hand makes its way under his shirt to his lower back. You place the coffee mug down on the counter. 

“Wanna go upstairs? It’ll be fun, trust me.” He smiles and kisses you again, his hands on your hips and lips on your neck. 

“Let’s stay here,” he growls, kissing your neck roughly, “I don’t want to move.”

His scruffy beard scratches your skin and you wonder what it would feel like on your thighs. 

John’s mind began to wander as much as his now very occupied hands. It’s been a while since the two of you were intimate, with everything going on. Between his work and your work, too-tired Fridays and too-busy Sundays, there’s never enough time or enough energy. John brings himself back to the moment, back to you. Back to your smile and bright eyes, the way you smell when you get out of the shower, the way you look when you’re naked and searching for the right outfit. Naked. And g _od_ , he wants you naked. Naked on the kitchen counter, naked on the bed, naked and laughing and moaning and smiling, naked on the floor, naked on. His mind stops. The floor. Blood. Blood on the cabinets, on the walls, covering your dead body. Eyes grey and empty, hands cold and stiff, body broken and bruised. And suddenly he’s in that alley way. The blue-green light reflecting grimly off your corpse. His own purple-blue blood pouring on to the concrete, pooling around his suit. You, in his jacket. His watch, cracked and ticking.

Ticking. 

          _Ticking._

                        **Ticking.**

                                      _ **Ticking.**_

“John? John? What’s wrong, honey? What happened? Did I do something?” His attention snaps back to you, and he removes his hands from your hips. He touches your hair softly, 

“I have to go make some calls, I’m sorry,” he grabs his cup of coffee and kisses your forehead, “thanks for the coffee.” You feel the warm spot on your flesh where his hands were and the irritated skin on your neck from his beard. He walks away. You hear the door to his office close. 

You’re alone. 

 

* * *

The day seems to drag on. Just hours ago, the grey clouds had created a blissful suspension of time. Now, they seem to slow each passing moment. Each moment that John is in his office, doing…something. You pout and finish the rest of your drink, wondering if you should try and bring John another cup of coffee. You think better of it and decide that maybe it’s best he be left alone for now. As with most work-related things, he’ll tell you when he can, _if_ he can. You look out the window and can see the rain has slowed. So you grab Dog’s leash, he bounds over to you. 

“Come on now. Ready to do some shopping?” Dog sits and waits patiently for you to put the leash on, his tail whapping against the door frame.

“John!” you call out. No answer. “John?!” Again, no answer. You sigh and shoot him a text. 

_Going to the store with Dog. Just the one up the street. I have house keys but I’m not taking the car. Call me if you need anything. I hope everything’s okay. Love you._

* * *

You walk down the wet sidewalk, autumn leaves at your feet. Dog looks up at you with a sloppy smile and you smily softly, lugging the falling grocery bag further up your shoulder. 

“We’ll be there soon, good boy.” The rain begins to fall a little harder and you regret not taking the car. Your hands and feet feel cold, “we’ll be there soon,” you repeat, sighing. A car passes you, whirring the water and wind around your feet. Another rolls down the lazy road. And then a third, black, rolls up to your side, the tinted window rolls down and you see Charon in the drivers seat wearing a fine blue tux. 

“Mr. Wick has requested that I personally escort you both to the Continental. Please,” a large burly man gets out of the car to open the door for you, “do get in.” The man waits patiently, as does Charon, Dog jumps in the back seat. You follow tentatively, sitting on the cream leather seats, your groceries on your lap. The car begins to move, and the rain falls harder. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, “Where’s John?” Houses and trees begin to zoom past you. Charon turns, 

“Unfortunately, it would seem that the predicament you found yourself in, in that alleyway last night,” he meets your eyes in the rearview mirror, “is a much bigger problem than anticipated. Mr. Wick is tying up some loose ends.”

“Can I call him? Where is he?”

“For both _your_ sake _and_ Mr. Wick’s, I can neither allow contact nor offer any information regarding his location.” You can feel Dog’s weight on your feet, warm and comforting. The man next to you shifts in his seat, Charon’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror once more and then back to the street. You shift in your seat and lean back, rubbing your hands together, your eyes making their way to outside the window. It’s night now, the sky is dark and the city is glowing. Charon pulls up to a red light and the car stops. 

“So,” you begin, eyes still focused on behind the glass, “what now?” Charon turns around, his dark eyes meeting yours, 

“Do not be alarmed.” And, as quickly as he had turned, Charon pulls out a gun shooting the body guard next to you. Red splatters the inside of the car, staining the cream leather. Dog begins to bark and you scream. 

“What the fuck?!” The light turns green and the car moves forward slowly. Outside the faces of other drivers are bleak and bored, calm. You grab the door handle to find it locked. Your heart beating out of your chest, your breath ragged and harsh, the dead man next to you, his blood, everywhere. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror to see blood. Blood on your face, blood on your clothes, on your groceries, in your hair. 

“I’m sorry for the mess. It was truly not anticipated. The man next to you, part of the group that is attempting to compromise Mr. Wick.” The world is spinning in your eyes. The windows won’t crack, your cries aren’t heard, the rest of the world carries on as if there is nothing but the rain and the silence of safety. 

“I’m going to need you to take a deep breath,” Charon says, “can you do that for me?” 

“Where’s John? Where the fuck is John?!” You cry out, enraged, your seat belt won’t unbuckle, you feel hot, you feel sick. 

“A deep breath in, a slow breath out. You’re safe.” You catch his eyes in the rear-view mirror again. A deep breath in bloodleatherhotoozing, a slow breath out Johndangerbloodbarking, a deep breath in yourhairunderyournailsinyourmouth? A deep breath out. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. 

“Thank you, we will be to the Continental soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Charon pulls up to the curb of the Continental and gets out, straightening his suit before opening your door. You grab your bloody bag of groceries and Dog’s leash. Charon guides you up the staircase and you see men and women swarm the car like bees. You turn to look, 

“I touched everything.”

“Not to worry, it’ll all be taken care of,” Charon speaks calmly. The front door to the Continental closes behind you. 

Your groceries are gently taken from you. 

Your clothes removed, 

your hair and body scrubbed of blood by women in white nurses outfits. 

You’re left standing, feet wet on an old tile bathroom floor, a robe tied around your waist, and Dog at your side. And for the second time today, you find yourself...alone.


	5. Baba Yaga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes care of business and Reader thinks back on recent events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Just follow me. I know the area."
> 
> includes: violence, blood, death, very minor nsfw

John. 

Black jacket and pants,

            black shoes,

                         black tie.

Hair back,

            Shoes shined,

                        gun ready.

 

An abandoned building,

            In the middle of fucking nowhere,

                        Just like he liked it.

             

A man came from the shadows of the abandoned building shooting wildly. John lifted his arm coolly for the shot, the man’s brain splattered against the wall and ceiling, covering the goon behind him in blood and flesh. John moved swiftly through the building.

Head shot!

Chest shot!

Around the corner,

up the stairs,

a shot!

The crunching noise of John’s elbows making contact with ribs,

                                                 the ringing clap of his hands hitting ears,

                                                                   the reverberating sound of bullet meeting bone,

                                                                                   and the crack of skulls on cement under newly shined shoes.

 

A large hallway.

 

John put his back to the wall slinking in to the shadows, waiting. A goon ran through the hallway and John grabbed him from behind, his hand clasping over the mans mouth and nose. The man moved to shoot and John moved, the bullet hitting an oncoming goon. John, shooting foes as he moved, made his way through the wide hallway dragging with him his human shield. Men, bullet cases, and blood littered the floor in seconds. John threw his captive on the floor, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Up the stairs he went, his breathing steady and paced until he reached the top floor door. He took an even breath and opened the door.

 

No one.

 

John kept his back to the wall listening intently for the sound of footsteps. Silence. Through halls and doorways he made his way until he reached a set of double doors. Through the dirty panel windows, he saw what looked to be an old auditorium. John checked his ammo and swore. He had been too hasty in his journey out of the house. He would spend time regretting that later, for now, he had other things to do. John kicked open the door and moved to punch an oncoming goon before clubbing him with the back of his gun. Another goon, another broken hand followed by a smack to the throat and a shove to their nose killing them instantly. And then a third came at him. John landed a hit, dodged a swipe from the knife, and moved forward landing another hit before disarming the goon. John twisted the knife in his hands and stabbed the goon in the chest. With his weight, John pushed the knife further up the man’s torso, watching the white fear in the goon’s eyes. John’s face contorted into a dark snarl as the blood gurgled out of the goon’s mouth. Pulling the knife out of the man’s flesh John looked down at his now blood drenched hand. The smell of iron and metal filled the room. John turned to face the next wave of goons, blood running down his hands and a dark and sinister smile on his face, the one that had earned him the name Baba Yaga.

 

Black jacket,

            black pants,

                        black tie.

Hair back,

            shoes shined,

                        crisp, clean, _white_ shirt.

 

Because John Wick isn’t in mourning, he’s in business.

* * *

 

You’re sitting on the hotel bed, it’s very similar to the one you and John were in a few days ago. Winston had personally seen to it that your room was without a view, safe from snipers, and guarded at all possible entrances. Dog lies at your feet sighing tiredly. You think about what the Continental psychologist had said to you. Charon had insisted you go after the event in the car, to make sure that you were okay.

            _“Now, it’s my understanding that you’ve seen events like this before with Mr. Wick, yes?”_

_“Well,” you rung your hands together, “not exactly.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Well, I’ve never seen John,” you paused searching for the word. Your eyes made their way to the ceiling, as if you’d find the word there. You made a second effort._

_“I’ve never seen him actually,” and there it had been again._

            _“Kill?” Your eyes flashed to hers, your knuckles turned white holding each other. Kill. It sounded foreign on your tongue. Vile. John doesn’t kill, he works. You had responded with a lengthy silence, focusing intently on the glimmering dust in the evening sunlight and the orange shimmer of her red hair in its messy bun. You wondered where she got her sweater._  

            _“Has Mr. Wick gone over any of this with you?”_

            _“What do you mean?”_

            _“Well, in the beginning of the session, you said that you know what he does, but that you’re not familiar with the details, correct?”_

            _“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with any of this.”_

_“Well, let’s start at the beginning. What does Mr. Wick do?”_

_“He’s a hitman.”_

_“Okay, and what does that mean to you? What does he actually do?”_

_“He takes people out, for money.”_

_“Takes people out?”_

_“Well, ya. You know,” you were starting to get a little annoyed, “he goes out and does a job or whatever. It’s not really my business.”_

_“I’d say it is. Twice now, it’s put you in situations you don’t like being in. You’re avoiding the word kill. You know he kills people, yes?”_

_“I know. It just feels weird. It’s not like he enjoys it. It’s just a job.” She stops her scribbling and puts the clipboard down to eye you seriously._

            _“I’ve been a therapist at The Continental for a long time. I do the personality screenings and the trauma screenings for those who work here and their loved ones. And let me just say, while I’ve never worked with Mr. Wick, I can say that his chosen profession is not for everyone. What Mr. Wick does, is not something many people can do with ease, especially not as well as Mr. Wick. It does take a certain kind of person and well, one doesn’t get as far as Mr. Wick has and as good as Mr. Wick is, not without enjoying some aspect of the job.” Silence._

_Your stomach churned, “Well,” she started again, “that wraps up this session. I would suggest a conversation with Mr. Wick. And perhaps with yourself. It’s a sexy lifestyle, full of adventure, but it’s not for everyone. And well, it **is** for others. There’s no shame in not being a part of that group.”_

You shifted over the sheets, rubbing your feet together. The alleyway. Killing.

            _The cold of his belt buckle. The lingering fingers on your collarbone. The scent of soap and shampoo on John. His rugged hair. The strength of his jaw. The unmistakable bubble of heat in your stomach._

_John had walked over to you and had seemed different. His eyes dark and menacing, jaw set, blood on his knuckles, he carried with him an air of… confidence? You paused your thoughts to assess the situation,_

_“Are we safe?” You had whispered._ Recalling the memory, you noted that the comment had been an unnecessary waste of time.

_“Ya, but we need to get to the Continental. I’m not sure why they were here tonight. Or what they want, we still need to be careful.”_

_“Okay,” you had responded numbly. John’s intense gaze on the city streets shifted as he looked at you with the dark expression he had walked over with. His body followed his penetrating gaze and he turned toward you. The rest of the world seemed to be shoved out of existence. You backed up against the cold cobblestone wall and John came closer._

_“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes intense, voice gruff and deep._

_“Yes, I think so.” You opened your hand to give John his watch back, the cold night air slipping its way into the jacket and down your dress making you feel exposed. John ignored the offering and with dark eyes focused intently on you, John lowered himself to his knees. Carefully, he placed each of your feet on his knee followed by the appropriate shoe. Shoes on your feet, John’s jacket wrapped around your middle, you watched as John put your foot down and his hands strayed, very unnecessarily, to your calves. As John stood, his fingers traced their way up the inside of your thighs branching out to your hips._

_It wasn’t confidence. It was power._

_Fingers roughly dragging their way back down the side of your thigh, John slowly removed his hands from under your dress. You felt the air in your chest catch in your throat before John spoke._

_“Just follow me. I know the area.”_

 


	6. Lost in Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and John argue about what's recently happened, and more importantly, how Reader feels about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: I know you didn't ask for this
> 
> I just wanna give a huge shoutout to everyone who has left kudos! And especially to everyone who has left comments on this work! Your comments seriously make my day and give me a reason to write more! I know this chapter is short, but I think some longer chapters are up next!
> 
> warning: mild nsfw

John flexes his fingers over the handles of his motorbike. Rain falls, giving the red light in front of him an otherworldly glow. He looks up at the dark clouds, the light of the busy city reflecting off it, painting it with oranges and blues. The harsh city lights have been dulled by the rain and made hazy. All around him people bustle. The light remains red. 

* * *

_“Dammit John, it’s a simple question. Do you or don’t you enjoy killing people?” You sat on the bed, sheets crumpled underneath you._

_“Oh, what the fuck?” he muttered quietly, “why are we doing this?” He stood from the hotel bed and ran his hands through his dark hair exposing an aggravated and tired expression, “why does it matter, honey?” he leaned against the dresser, “Can we do this tomorrow? I really just want to go to bed. I’m glad you’re safe and I just wanna go to bed with you, please.”_

_“No, John. We can’t go to bed,” your voice began to rise, “because I can’t sleep!” your hand slammed against your heart, “Do you know how long it took them to get all that blood out of my hair?”_

_“As a matter, of fact, yes, I do,” he barked. His hands covered his face and once again he slicked his hair back before his dark eyes met yours, “look, I know you’re upset, and I have no intentions of convincing you to feel anything else, but please, can we do this tomorrow?” His expression had softened and you could see the bags under his eyes, the scrapes on his nose, the blood on his battered knuckles as they made their way to your cheek stroking softly. You swatted him away._

_“No, John,” you stood and walked in front of the bed and toward the door, turning on your heels to face him, your arms crossed, “I need to do this now. I need to know. Do you enjoy killing people?”_

_“For fucks sake,” he grumbled sitting back down on the bed, “I don’t know, it’s just a job!” The two of you had switched places, he on the sheets, you against the dresser._

_“What do you mean you don’t know?” you spat._

_“Why do we need to do this right now?”_

_“Because this matters to me, John,” your previously crossed arms now had both hands at your heart, “I don’t know how I feel about being with someone who enjoys this kind of work.” He had been relatively soft throughout your discussion with him. Aside from the occasional soft-spoken curse word, his voice had been calm and his actions affectionate. You watched as a dark and menacing smirk broke out across his face. What had looked tired was now overshadowed with what seemed to be a power hungry lust. A deep chuckle escaped his mouth and he looked at you with a glint in his eyes that seemed almost demonic._

_“Oh that’s rich coming from you.” His voice was dark as, once more, he stood from the bed, his figure now towering._

_“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You shot a cruel glare at him, he laughed stepping closer into your space._

_“I think you know exactly what it means,” his voice had been brought to a snarling growl._

_“No, enlighten me, John. What the fuck do you mean?” You crossed your arms again, unafraid to meet his intense gaze._

_“Look, I’m sorry for what happened with Charon,” he said quietly, “I’m going to do all I can to make sure that something like that never happens again, but don’t think for a second that you can lie to me about your misgivings on whether or not you want to be with someone who enjoys this kind of work.”_

_“What the hell does that even mean? I didn’t ask for this, John.” Your eyes in a rage, your hands breaking free from where they had been crossed against your chest. He chuckled backing away from you now._

_“Oh I know you didn’t ask for this, you damn near begged. Or should I remind you?”_

 

_The alleyway._

 

_You remembered how you had brought his hand under the hem of your skirt. How you had placed his fingers at your entrance. The way the wind had felt against your cold wet thighs as his fingers curled inside of you. They way he had covered your mouth with bloody battered knuckles to keep you silent as you came undone in his arms. How the gravel of his voice and the blood on his collar had sent you over the edge. Your thoughts returned to reality as John grabbed his helmet._

_“Where are you going?” you asked._

_“For a ride.”_

_“What happened to going to bed?” You wanted desperately to just get in to bed and hold him. Do as he had suggested and fight in the morning._

_“I’m not tired anymore. You’re safe here, Charon can get you anything you want, use my coin. I’ll be back later.”_

* * *

The light turns green. John speeds off to nowhere. 

 


End file.
